


Homecoming

by Nerdytshirt (GreyHoodie)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, but can be read as standalone, pregnancy reveal, proposal, red doors, technically Hour of the Wolf canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 18:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13687545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyHoodie/pseuds/Nerdytshirt
Summary: The night after the news of the Wall’s fall reaches them, Jon knocks on Dany's door as he had done on the first day of that voyage, his heart in his throat and his stomach twisting with anxiety.He's got a question to ask.Dany, however, has some news of her own.





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentines day, guys. 
> 
> Technically, this is canon for my Hour of the Wolf 'verse, but it can also be read as just a fluffy standalone. Hope you enjoy!

The night after the news of the Wall’s fall reaches them, Jon knocks on her door as he had done on the first day of that voyage, his heart in his throat and his stomach twisting with anxiety. Jon hopes he is not waking her - it has been a long day, full of meetings and battle preparations, all tinged with a frantic urgency and a forced sort of hope that was dying every minute. After all of it, Jon found himself at the heart tree. It was a good place to think, and while he wasn’t sure if he believed in his f- _Uncle’s_ god’s anymore, he needed all the help he could get. So he prayed for his resolve, for the coming days, and for courage tonight. 

He thinks he will need it.

The door opens.

Dany’s in a thick indigo night-robe, her hair falling in silver curls around her shoulders. For a moment, he thinks she might slam it in his face - which would be no less than he deserves. She moves aside, and he steps inside in a sort of daze, shutting the door behind him. 

Jon dimly remembers that he had some sort of… _speech_ prepared - over the last few hours he’d hammered it out almost more painstakingly than any address to his lords he’s ever given, but he forgets its contents the moment he sees Dany’s red-rimmed violet eyes. They are dry now, but it is clear that she had been crying earlier, and the thought of her alone in her sorrow breaks his heart. Truly, his appearance now could not have been more ill-timed. 

He had known, of course, that she would be mourning for her son all over again. When they’d received word of his unholy resurrection she had seemed to go into shock, but had forced down her sorrow and exhibited only the rage it brought her. Those who knew her, however, knew that her righteous fury was a brittle veneer over the grief she must have been feeling.

_Oh love, I’m sorry,_ he wants to say; he wants to reach out a comforting hand and hold her close, thumb the tears away from her cheeks and soothe her. He doesn’t. _Coward,_ he thinks, and takes a deep breath. 

“If you need…”

“Stay,” Dany says simply. And then, more softly, “Please.” Jon nods. The golden light of the fire is reflected in her hair. The blankness in her expression fades, and now something soft and pleading in her posture, as if she fears to be alone. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her more human. Jon can not speak of how it feels like to lose a child, but he does know what it feels like to have to mourn unseen.

“I’m so sorry,” he says once again, like he had months ago, and once again, he feels powerless.

Dany gives him a humorless, weak smile that shows she understands, and meets his eyes. “Don’t be. The blame lies with the Night King.” Jon himself is not so convinced, but hatred, coming from _her,_ would break him, so he does not try to change her mind. 

Then she steadies herself, her face going all but expressionless, like he was one of the Lords she had to hide her heart away from, perhaps reminding herself of how he’d ended what the precious thing that had lain between them. He had not come to her bed since the night he told her of his heritage, nor had he sought her out any other time, not in lust nor for comfort. Not when he lay in bed late at night, so unsure and lonely that he thought it he might break from it. Not when the questions and doubts that had plagued him since Bran’s revelation became too much to bear, and he’d folded in on himself, trying desperately to hold back the tears, wishing nothing more than to flee from those thoughts, out of his empty chambers, and into Dany’s arms. 

“Is there any further news, my Lord?” she asks, voice clipped, and he despises the formality of it. 

“No,” he says. “I’m not here about the war, Dany, and please don’t do that. You don’t need to hide yourself, not from me. ”

“Back to Dany now, are we?,” Dany says, and he can see the hurt in her eyes. He expects her to make another biting remark, but instead she hesitates. The coldness slips from her face; she’s unable to keep it fixed there anymore In its place is an expression thats almost apprehensive.

“Jon…there’s something that you need to know.” Is that fear in her eyes? Jon hopes not. He never wants her to fear him, not ever. He’d thought he’d reassured her by denouncing his claim when he ended it. He curses himself; he might have already driven her away.

“Wait,” Jon says, trying to keep the desperation he’s feeling out of his voice. His heart is running a race in his chest. Why was this so hard? _Because you love her,_ he thinks, answering his own question, _and you could have lost her already_. “Just…let me speak first. Please.”

Dany nods, a question in her eyes.

Jon takes a deep breath and wills himself to continue. “When I was beyond the Wall, someone told me that I wouldn’t find much happiness in this life. And I think that he was right.” That was a truth he knew deep in his bones. 

“And?” Dany asks.

“And I want to take what little I can find.” On an impulse, he grabs her hands in his own, entwining her fingers with his. The warmth of them is calming, the fact that she doesn’t pull away even more so. Dany looks down at them for a moment, breath catching, and he waits until she meets his eyes again. Jon feels like he’s opening up his scars, baring his heart to her, hoping she will not pierce it.

“Marry me,” he says, nearly pleading. Dany freezes, stunned, and her eyes look glassy as they fill with tears. He hopes that they’re happy ones. “Dany, I love you.”

“I already know that,” says Dany softly. _You left me anyway_ goes unspoken.

“I’ve been a fool, this past week,” he tells her, hating himself for it, “thinking that any blood we share will change that.” Daenerys Targaryen he counts as family _because_ he loves her, and not the reverse. Being near to her, he feels… 

“My whole life I’ve been looking for somewhere to belong - Winterfell was home, when I was a child. But I was never a Stark like my siblings, so I was always half an outsider, looking in. I thought I might have found a place in the Night’s Watch, but that changed when I was with the Wildlings. And I certainly wasn’t one of them. Even when I was with Ygritte, I was still alone. And when I came back…well, the Night’s Watch made their opinion of me clear. Even when I cam back to Winterfell, it didn’t feel like I was home.

“Until I met you,” he says, “You make me feel like I’m _home,_ like I’m not alone in the world _._ I love you, and if we’re going to face this, I don’t want it to do it as your lord, and you my queen. I want to be your husband, Dany, and you my wife.” 

There’s a moment of silence while he waits for her response. She’s shaking slightly, and let’s go of one of his hands so she can raise her own to cover her mouth. The contents of Jon’s heart are before her. 

He knows he doesn’t deserve her - she’s fought tooth and nail for everything she has, to make the world better. Jon, meanwhile, was handed the North by virtue of a heritage that’s not even his, and has barely been able to keep it together. The news of his parentage - that he’s actually a true born king - haven’t settled into facts with him yet; in fact, it makes it worse. How could he steal what she’s worked her whole life for?

This past week he’s questioned everything he thought he knew, and the only constants he’s found to be true are that his siblings are still his siblings, and that Daenerys Targaryen owns his heart. She’d stolen it, piece by piece, from him during the whole of his stay in Dragonstone. When she’d come to that frozen lake and had to flee, leaving him behind, the rest of it had followed her as surely as the tide followed the moon. So even if she rejects him, he’ll try to take comfort that he at the very least asked for Dany to share her heart with him in turn.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Dany says finally, voice thick. Tears roll down her cheeks. But still, she does not let go of his hands. In fact, she squeezes them tighter. “I kept telling myself it wasn’t true, but I don’t think I can believe that any longer.”

“Is something wrong?” Jon asks, beginning to worry. “Dany, whatever it is, we can face this together. Even if…even if you say no, I won’t leave you. You know that.”

“Yes,” says Dany, “Together.” An adoring smile graces her lips, directed at _him,_ and it makes her look so lovely that he almost can’t bear not to kiss her. She cups his cheek in one of her small hands, an she brings the one still entwined with his own to rest upon her belly. “Jon, I’m carrying our child.”

Jon processes what she said, and his breath catches. Once again, he feels his world fall out from underneath his feet, but this time, it is not an unwelcome sensation. His knees go weak; he can barely stand; dear gods, they’re having a _baby. S_ he’s carrying their _child_ in the middle of this gods-forsaken war _,_ and variations of this thought run rampant through his mind as his vision blurs with tears.

“Does that mean…” he finally chokes out, barely able to form the words. 

“ _Yes,”_ Dany breathes, drawing even closer. He can feel the heat of her breath against his lips. “Even if it were not for the babe, a hundred, a thousand times yes. You’re my home, too.”

She kisses him, then, and _oh,_ how he’s missed the feel of her lips moving against his own. He lets out a quiet, involuntary moan, weak and helpless against the pure comfort and pleasure of it. Her lips taste salty, but Jon doesn’t care, his must as well, and her face is wet with tears where he cups his sword-calloused hand over her soft skin. One of her hands goes to his back, pulling him closer, and he’s all to happy to follow. 

Finally, their lips part but they do not, resting their brows together and gasping for breath. He nuzzles her softly, just breathing in the scent of her, spices and woodsmoke. He realizes that one of his hands has come to rest gently on her belly, and he doesn’t think he could move it if he tried. 

“I was so afraid to tell you,” Dany whispers. “I thought that, that you might be-“

“We were both fools, then,” Jon says with a breathless laugh, giving her a quick peck on the lips. He closes his eyes for a moment, basking in the love they share, letting it fill him. 

“I thought I’d never have this,” he admits, “A woman to love and love me in return, a child to hold and call my own. I never thought I’d deserve it.” He still doesn’t. Dany does, though - she deserves more than a cold throne and a kingdom to rule. She deserves a home and loved ones with which to share it, and by some miracle she’s chosen _him._ Him, and their child. 

Dany, her fingers carding through his hair soothingly, seems to know what he’s thinking. “You deserve that and more, Jon Snow.” She gives a little laugh, half bitter. “And here I thought _I_ didn’t deserve you.” Jon opens up his mouth to deny it, but she cuts him off with a shake of her head and a sweet smile, knowing what he would say. “Are you as scared as I am?”

“Terrified,” Jon says. More than he ever has been, of losing them. Jon will not let anything harm them, not while he draws breath- but the chances of his survival have always been a remote possibility, and he threatens to drown in the realization. It’s like Sansa said - no one can protect anyone, what chance do they have?

“What if - what if we never get to hold him,” Dany whispers, and her eyes are full of fear. Jon’s stomach lurches. He feels like he’s reading Ramsay’s letter again, learning of his brother being held hostage. Her words are unthinkable, yet terribly, terribly probable, and he feels them sink into his gut like his brothers' knives. “What if I miscarry again, or the Army of the Dead -“

“-is not here right now,” Jon says. Coming from him, who has done nothing but urge haste to meet them in battle before it is too late, the statement is absurd. But he can’t think of that now, nor of her curse, or anything that could touch them and their fragile new future. He does his best to shove those thoughts far, far into the recesses of his mind, back where he keeps his nightmares of Dany meeting the same fate as her dragon and his brothers.

Dany seems to understand, and nods. Perhaps she has come to the same conclusion. 

Tomorrow they will belong to their people, and their fears can wait until then. 

Tonight belongs to them and them alone. Tonight they will pretend that they just a man in a woman in love, just Jon and Dany, and the still as-of-yet unnamed life that lies between them.

“We’re going to have a _child,”_ Jon says, dazed. Saying it himself makes it feel more real. A smile stretches across his face, an unfamiliar feeling, but for once, it is easy. “You’re going to be a mother again, Dany.”

His betrothed’s breath catches, and her answering grin is like the dawning sun, bright and beautiful. “You’re going to be a father,” Dany says, her hands squeezing his. Suddenly, Jon can barely see for the tears that fill his eyes. He rolls the words around in his mind, letting them warm him like a hearth after days spent ranging in the cold. _This,_ he thinks, _is what it must feel like to be loved._

He finds words to be insufficient to express the depths of his emotion so he pours it all into his kiss. And then nothing mattes but Dany, but _her -_ the way her fingers run through his hair and the little noise of contentment she sighs into his mouth, how she goes pliant and yielding against him, her body melting into his like she can’t bear to be parted from him. Jon focuses on the glorious feel of her lovely lips, and the softness of her belly where their child grows within, so tiny and safe and protected and loved before it even draws breath, and _oh, oh Gods,_ he’s never loved so completely, he loves them, he loves them so much _-_

Dany pulls away reluctantly, gasping for air, and then Jon does fall to his knees. He’s helpless against the pull of this terrifying new love and his eagerness to show it. His breathing is harsh in his ears, but in between his gasps he kisses each of her delicate fingers in turn and then moves her hand aside so he can smother her belly with little butterfly kisses. When Dany giggles, gleefully like the young woman she tries not to be, a smile tugs at his lips, and he closes his eyes and nuzzles against her belly, imagining their babe in her arms. _Hello,_ he thinks, _hello my little one - little cub, little hatchling,_ and his grin is so wide it hurts. 

Suddenly, this closeness is not enough. He is struck with how her thick nightgown bars his way to _her,_ and Jon needs the dress _gone_ and to feel bare skin. It overwhelms him. His breath catches, and he moves a hand to the hem of her gown, glancing up at his betrothed (his _betrothed_ , gods, the mother of his _child)_ in question. Dany nods her permission wordlessly, heat in her eyes and Jon surges to his feet, groaning when her lips find his neck. 

Her arms wrap around his back as he wraps her legs around his hips and he walks them to her four-poster bed. He lays her down gently and climbs on, in a haste to shrug off his cloak, armor, and tunic as he goes. 

The robe has been shrugged off of Dany’s shoulders and she looks at him expectantly. Jon skims his hands along her legs, pulling off her shift. The sight of her bare breasts inflames him. He skims his hands down from her collarbone and squeezes them gently before going for her smallclothes (he will admit he mourned her distaste of them when she’d finally bowed to their necessity in this godforsaken cold), and then both they and the nightgown are tossed to the side and she’s entirely bare before him. 

“Dear gods, you’re beautiful,” he can’t help but saying. His eyes consume her, the softness of her lips and the way her hair cascades around her, the plumpness of her breasts and the soft curves of her hips, her sweet cunt. He can’t help but let his eyes be drawn to her belly. It is still early - it has been less than three months since they first laid together, so she does not show, yet. 

His imaginings of the little life within her womb change to an eager anticipation for how gorgeous she will look as her belly swells with their baby. An entirely male possessiveness fills him - his wife, his love, carrying his child, and not a soul that sees her won’t know it. Then he thinks of how heavy her breasts will grow, imagines the weight of them in his hands, (full, for their child to suckle from, but that wondrous thought is borne more from love than lust), and he groans deep in his throat. 

Dany gasps as he nips the jut of her hip. His cock stirs in his breeches. Its been barely more than a week since he’s last had her, but it feels like a lifetime. She senses his need, as she always does, and by the way she arches against him Jon thinks hers matches it. “My love,” she says, urging him on. The endearment sounds so sweet. “Jon,” she says, and pulls him up to her lips.

It does not take for Jon to lose himself within her, not long at all, with how warm and wet she is around him, divine - but he holds out long enough for her to peak, his name a cry on her lips.

In the aftermath, he holds her close, wrapping arms and legs around her and tracing little patterns into her sweat-slick skin. Dany curls up against his chest, resting her head on his shoulder and her legs finding a place between his, and he breaths a contented sigh. Need satisfied, he can think, now. He finds he would rather not.

So many things could go wrong. There will be objections to the marriage, and that is the least of his worries. Cersei will kill this babe in the cradle if she can. Worse than her is the Night King’s army, approaching soon. And Dany will have no choice but to fight in the battle to come- they need all the dragon-riders as they can get. 

He could lose them both.

But still, even though Jon is more terrified than he’s ever been, with so much to lose now, his heart is filling with hope. He is drunk on the idea of being a father and he and Dany raising this child together. Before her, he always half-dreaded the idea of fatherhood, scared off by the scorn a child of his could received if he or she was a bastard’s bastard - but Dany will be his wife. And (this is the first time he is glad of it), Jon is not a bastard. 

If the dead were not coming to kill them all in less than a month it would be a dream come true.

Dany hums, the sound low and thoughtful, and her lips turn up in a smile. “I think I dreamt of the child, even before I realized my moon blood was late.” she laughs. “I saw the babe as clearly as I’m seeing you now. Only it didn’t feel like a dream, it felt…”

“Real?” he finishes for her, pressing a kiss into her hair.

“It sounds so foolish.” He’s never known her to be bashful, but a slight blush reddens her cheeks. 

“But your dreams come true,” Jon says, his excitement rising. She’d told him of her dragon dreams. “Could you tell the gender?” She nods. “Come on. Tell me.” He smiles broadly at her. “Boy are girl?”

She waits a moment, and a light in her eyes makes him think she’s teasing him. “Boy,” she says. Then adds, a bit wistfully, “A beautiful little boy, with dark curly hair like yours, and violet eyes, like mine.”

Tears prick at his eyes when he imagines such a child laughing up at him. “He’ll be perfect,” Jon says, voice cracking slightly. “And he’ll be happy.” Not like they weren’t _._ Not alone.

“The happiest boy in all the word,” Dany agrees wholeheartedly. There’s an earnestness in her voice that says that she, too, is thinking of their own childhoods. It pains him, to think of their son (a _son)_ growing up like that, and he vows that it will he will never let that happen. Their son will always know, from the moment of his birth, what a gift he is. Their boy will never doubt that he is wanted, and loved. 

Dany takes a breath. “I’ve been thinking of a name.”

“And?” His hand comes to rest above her womb, rubbing circles with his thumb.

“I was thinking…Eddarys. For your father.” There’s a pang in his heart at the words, but he can’t deny the _rightness_ of it. 

“Ned Targaryen,” Jon says thickly. “I think I like that.”

They stay that way until they fall asleep, curled up against each other as the fire-light dances around the room. They talk of their dreams, and a future filled that is not filled with war, and wonder if their son will like to ride, or swing a sword, or perhaps (Dany adds) sing and play the harp. They will dote on him regardless. For the first time in a long time, Jon thinks he might actually have hope, and when he sleeps, it is dreamless and peaceful.

-

The next day, Dany and Jon make it to her chambers well past midnight, weary from a long day of battle preparations and the council meeting they’d just left. As they walk down the corridor, nodding to the guards on duty, Jon laces her fingers with his. “I have a surprise for you,” he says.

“A surprise?” Dany says, one eyebrow raised. Then she turns from him and towards their chamber, and her mouth falls open as she gasps. 

It hadn’t taken Jon long to think of a wedding gift. In the end, it had been no gift for a queen. 

Just a fresh coat of paint. 

The door is now a cherry red, a bright, cheery color that looks unusual in Winterfell’s halls. She had been very specific in her reminiscing. One night, in a rare moment when all of her walls were down, as the ship rocked beneath him she’d confessed that she still saw it in her dreams. _That was the closest thing to home I’ve ever had,_ she said, and Jon had understood that was all that she was really fighting for. Not for power. Just for a place that could be hers. 

Now, Dany takes a hesitant step closer, and reaches a trembling hand out to touch it, as if she can’t really believe it’s there.

Jon thinks he’s done well, because she’s been moved to tears by his simple gesture. When she turns back to him, Jon places the small pouch he’d been hiding in his cloak pocket in her hands, and opens it slightly so she can see the few lemon seeds within. 

“I didn’t want to wait ‘till the war is over,” he tells her softly. One of his hands brushes a strand of hair from her face, the other rests against her belly. “Welcome home.”

She makes a little choked sound, and pulls him down for a long kiss. Through it, he can feel her smile. “Welcome home,” she says. And together, they walk inside.


End file.
